


Moonlight Shivers

by targaryin



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bloodlust, F/M, Jonerys AU month, Magic, Mortal!Jon, Slight fluff, Smut, Vampire!Daenerys, Vampires, Woman on Top, happy halloween!!!, idk what this is tbh, like there’s a curse and mention of witches, there’s more fluff in here than what i intended so...
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-21
Updated: 2019-10-21
Packaged: 2020-12-27 12:16:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21118643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/targaryin/pseuds/targaryin
Summary: Daenerys is rather thirsty and has a need for quenching it, just as a lost love comes across her path for the first time in years.And there isn’t a more perfect way to sate herself.





	Moonlight Shivers

**Author's Note:**

> i literally have no idea where this case from and it might be a little all over the place because i’m kinda manic rn, UH HA HA!!! happy spooky month y’all 🧛🏻♀️🧡🖤 here’s to hoping this is to someone’s liking!

* * *

She hates this, with every single— _artificial _— breath in her body. 

But it is inevitable, for someone like her, that is. It calls to her every minute, every sluggish second. That deep, dark hunger. No matter how much she were to feast, even it were gallons and gallons, she’d still be unsatisfied, wanting more. _ Needing _more. 

Inconvenient isn’t even the word for it at a time like this. _ Bloody annoying _ is what it is. 

Just as her thin pale fingers tighten around the plastic cup in her hold, a shrill sound erupts into her focus, right into her left ear. The purpose was to clearly frighten her, but as _ always_, it doesn’t catch her off guard. 

Daenerys merely blinks, lazy and unaffected, turning her head to see a wide, nearly manic-looking grin. Theon Greyjoy stands there, and in between the offender’s teeth is a party blower, coiled and ready to strike. 

She eyes it with an arched brow before looking back up the owner’s face. His cheeks are ruddy with drunken glee— she can tell, even under the strobe lights. “Hello, Theon,” she murmurs coolly, so low that she knows he cannot hear it over the thud and rattle of the bass. 

He leans in, close enough for her to make out the minuscule movement of his pulse under the skin of his throat. Daenerys, poised and collected as ever, silently turns back to her drink— fruity but sharp with vodka. The distinctive smell of the alcohol has her smiling bemusedly— once it used to have an effect on her, _ once_. 

“What did ya say?” Theon yells over the music, his hot breath on the side of her face. She doesn’t bother to respond, but it matters little to the inebriated man. He claps a heavy hand on her shoulder, as if they were friends. The thought makes her stifle a snort of laughter. As far as she’s concerned, they’re simply acquaintances_ . _“C’mon, Storm! Get off this wall and dance! It’s your party, after all!” 

The tight grip on her shoulders and the pull of his weight has her feintly stumbling along, playing the weak woman. Little did he know that Daenerys could’ve stayed there if she wished, for she was too strong to be moved by a mere human. 

His wrist could also be snapped in two by a mere flick of her wrist..._if _ she wished. 

But she will not do such a thing, for as agitated as she was becoming, she wasn’t Daenerys Targaryen here in this Northern town of Winterfell— she _ couldn’t _ be. Instead she is Rhaella Storm, who transferred here from Essos when she was sixteen in the middle of the sophomore school year, and to the unassuming eye of the Northern folk, undeniably mortal. Six years have passed since then— twenty two Rhaella Storm is now— and along with it her _ sixth _high school graduation. 

She envied Viserys who always got away with not attending these schools the way she hadn’t. _ He’s too sly for his own good, _ Daenerys thinks sourly. _ And too reckless. _As much as she loathed playing the part of normal teenage girl whenever they landed somewhere new, she knew that Viserys in all of his wild untamed nature, never could. 

Why Rhaegar thought coming to this drab and dreary land was the best choice for them, she’d never know. But just when she had gotten settled in their last home, a rustic but beautiful little town in the Stormlands, Rhaegar had uprooted them again. _ “We cannot stay in one place for too long, Daenerys,” _ he told her then for the umpteenth time, _ “not us— never us.” _

And she knew that. She really did, but she didn’t want to come here. Tooth and nail she had fought with her brother, firm in her stance that they should migrate elsewhere. _ “Anywhere— anywhere but the North,” _ she had relentlessly begged him, paying no mind to Viserys snickering in the background. _ “You know we mustn’t go there,” _she said near to tears for the first time in almost a century. 

Rhaegar, her melancholic and sweet brother, understood— she _ knew _he understood more than anyone, for a flicker of sad discernment passed over his frozen features before it was gone and he ultimately told her it was decided, that she may come to thank him for it one day. 

In her first life— the only life she should’ve had— Daenerys always thought she wanted to be an actress but now all she ever did was act, and that dream turned to ashes as quickly as the change of the wind. 

_ And what a dream it was— first dreamt years and years ago. Another lifetime. Another girl. _

This lifetime— the lifetime of Rhaella Storm was not the past, it was present. And, undeniably so, her hunger was also present, growing stronger and stronger around all of this ripe flesh. Gritting her teeth, Daenerys tries her best to push it all away— terrified screams, helpless mothers clutching onto their children, gushing warmth of a sweet coppery taste, and sad, sad grey eyes. 

_ No, _ she tells herself, _ I will never be that again, ever. _

She was not Viserys who cared little for human life, taking as he pleased much to her known displeasure and Rhaegar’s worried nature. She hadn’t been that way since those first few blurry years. 

With a keen need to distract herself, Daenerys finds herself gripping onto Theon’s nape and lets her body lean into the rhythm of his hips against hers. Bodies of faceless strangers press against her back as they gyrate to the deafening sounds of the party around them.

The party had been a tradition of theirs. Just before they left whichever place they had inhabited, Rhaegar threw an over-the-top bash, inviting everyone in town. Their farewell before they vanished into thin air the next day and were onto the next. 

Theon, the poor fellow, just can’t keep up and after awhile Daenerys finds herself getting bored of him. His slurred protests fall on deaf ears when she pushes him away with a strength that’s been promised with the stopping of her once-beating heart. Another body slides into the empty space quietly, Daenerys looks up with an arched brow to find a young woman with the sweetest brown eyes and dimples to match. 

Margaery, she says her name is— a cheeky whisper into Daenerys’ ear. Usually she has better manners and would introduce herself, but if she stops to think about anything, she’s afraid those hauntings of a past life will come back. And rarely anything frightens her anymore.

She doesn’t speak to her new partner and, luckily, Margaery gets the memo. They fall into a new rhythm. Where Theon was lean with muscle here and there, this Margaery is curved and soft. Daenerys is silently pleased when this girl proves to be a better dancer than the last and it’s easier for her to get lost in it, for things to drift away into nothingness. 

Daenerys knows that the songs have been changing, but falling into a sense of mindlessness like this with only the bass pumping through her bones, it’s more than easy for her to imagine that this has been one song. Long, but ever-changing. The smoke and lights— red, purple, blue, green— only make her surroundings feel that much more euphoric and slightly out of touch. 

But it’s only before long when her throat tightens with aching she’d been prolonging, the action impulsive along with the watering of her mouth. She can feel it. That beast deep within her belly, the one she always has to push down, the one that doesn’t care for her mortal ways, for her practiced self-control. It gnaws and snaps with ferocious teeth as it forces its way to the forefront of her mind, harshly pulling her back into a startling sense of painful clarity. 

Margaery whirls in front of her, a swirl of brunette curls and the delicious scent that lies under the mask of her floral perfume. It makes her jaw tick. 

She can’t stay here. She must go and tame the monster inside her. It cannot rear its ugly head here— it will_ not_. Her past mistakes will not be repeated.

On her heel she pivots, letting her feet take her away, they already know the destination she has in mind. Her dance partner yells after her, the protest sharp and clear whereas if she were anyone else it would be lost in the crowd. Bodies upon bodies, all of them in her way. Frustration has her pushing some man to the ground, setting her hidden strength free. Rhaegar would scold her for that if he saw, but this is their last night here, anyway. _ Who cares, _she thinks without abandon.

The victim of her strength lets out a shout of indignance and it has her looking her shoulder for a beat. She swears, underneath the blue lights, she sees heartbreaking grey underneath the man’s dark lashes, but she’s in too much of a hurry to give a second thought and whisks herself away further into the house. 

Farther and farther, the once ear-shattering bass turns into faint thumps. It her hums underneath her boots, through the wood and stone, as she turns and goes up the dark staircase. She ascends, passing the second floor, and makes way for where her salvation lies— the attic. 

Bursting through the door, alone and uninhibited, her amethyst eyes fall upon the small fridge that sits just at the end of the room. Daenerys is now by herself, so she’s unafraid to let loose, and is at the cool metal in a blink of an eye. Her hands shake as she nearly pulls the poor refrigerator door from its hinges. 

A low hum, a click of a light, and there it is. Packs and packs of it. Her incisors lengthen at the sight, becoming deadly sharp in an instant. Ravenous hunger has her acting like the true beast she is, ripping and tearing through the flimsy plastic that contains her most desired foodsource. 

Thick and dark, it spills over her fingers, tainting the ivory skin and staining the ring her deceased mother left her. Daenerys doesn’t care at all. There is nothing else but the gush of blood. Cold and so unlike the way it should be, but _ blood _ nonetheless. For those blurry, delirious moments of feasting, her senses fail her. It is the only time they do. The rich, indulgent taste is intoxicating and always makes the room go quiet— the world. 

But that is where she errs. 

If she hadn’t been so frenzied leaving the noise and havoc of the party behind, she would’ve noticed a shadow trailing her. If she wasn’t so entangled in getting the first fill she’s had in nearly three days, she would feel the presence of a voyeur. 

Their sharp gasp is what alerts her in the end. She has to pull herself away from the mind-consuming flavor and blink herself back into reality. Turning her head, a man is revealed to have been standing there— the _ same _man she pushed down. If her heart could still beat, it would’ve stuttered into an anxious uproar at the sight of his widened grey eyes. 

_ Grey _eyes. 

A sense of panic itches through her skin at the sight of the irises that haunt her every waking step— at the sight of the_ man _whose been her shadow for more than a lifetime. Jon Snow. 

Will she _ ever _ be able to escape him? Her eyes rove over his face that behold those pink lips that she knows are soft as silk, the curve of his nose which she has traced with her fingertips a dozen times, and miserably she wonders— _ Do I even want to escape him? _

Even if she could, because she _ can’t_, the answer would be no. 

This is a man that she’s held and loved more than once. A man who’s been cursed to haunt her for her past transgressions. She’s seen him live, laughing and smiling. And she’s seen him die, withering and slackening in her embrace with his final breath. He always seems to come back, finding his way to her as that self-righteous witch had made it so. 

In each of his lives, he’d find her and love her. In each of his lives, someway or another, he’d discover her dark secret, the sickening nature of what she truly was and then he’d be disgusted with her. Where he would once ignite the flame of their love, in the next breath with the coldest turn of his eyes, he’d snuff it out and let it fall to ashes. 

But never once did this turn of events happen— where he finds out who she is before they fell. For the first time in a long time, Daenerys is afraid. The sight of him brings back too many troubled memories. 

_ “For all the lives you took, I will give your mortal lover the same. But don’t be mistaken,” the red witch’s scarlet gaze had glittered in the firelight as her smile turned queer and disquieting, “this is not a reward. He will _ die _ — painfully and horribly in each and you will watch. Helpless to stop it.” _

And so she had. Over and over. So many times had her deepest love met a tragic end to which she had been an audience. If she closed her eyes now, she knew that one of those times would come back. So, she makes herself keep focus. 

“You— you...” He utters, slack jawed and disbelieving. 

Daenerys knows what she must look like right now, hands and mouth bloodied, the usual color of her eyes morphed to a bright crimson and the sclera as black as the night’s sky, her long fangs. _ A monster… A killer… An abomination. _

The plastic in her hand drops to the floor with a wet sound as the familiar dark sense of doom— that has come with Jon’s arrival— starts to set in.

She cannot do this again, it is the reason why she narrowly avoided him when she happened to catch his eye in the halls of Winterfell High. Daenerys thought she could stop the inevitable if she ignored him and had nothing to do with him, and for a long while she was successful. Her class had graduated without her ever saying a word to him. That was four years ago and here he is, in this room the night before she and her brothers are set off to the Westerlands. 

The thick heel of her boots thud against the wooden floor as she steps back, apprehensive. But he does something she doesn’t expect— he takes a tentative step _ forward _with his eyes locked on hers, and then after a long stretch of tense silence, another.

Daenerys doesn’t understand, and when the door slams shut behind him— his own doing— she is outright confused. “I don’t—” Her voice starts to say, but the words vanish and get stuck in her throat when he smiles tremulously.

“Dany,” he whispers, the sound of it is so familiar, so _ right_, that Daenerys sucks in a harsh breath. 

_ This cannot be, _ she tells herself adamantly. _ This is a farce. The red witch has finally come back with another cruel joke. _But his eyes are so bright now, his cheeks are risen with a grin, and his chest rises and falls with shaky breaths. 

So...she dares. 

Taking a small step forward, she whispers back, timid and unsure, “Jon?” 

In a rush, she is bombarded by the scent of pine and smoke, a smell that she knows better than anything. His arms wrap around her, but she isn’t weak— her bones are iron and they don’t bend, not even for her beloved— so her body doesn’t fall into it right away. She is rigid, she is still as water, and too frightened to move, anyway. 

But he presses a soft kiss to her silver hair and she relaxes at once, quick to reciprocate the embrace and hold him to her, tightly and selfishly. A flood of the most wonderful warmth rushes through her, head to toe, as she breathes him in. Startled sobs make their way through her chest unbeknownst to her. “Dany,” Jon says again, this time his voice tight, “you forget that I am only just a man.” 

Confused, she lifts her head from the crook of his neck and blinks through tears— that she wasn't aware of— to frown up at him. “What?”

The smile he shines down on her is warm and easy, and it sends a million fond memories rushing through her frozen veins. Jon’s sweet smile reminds her of the first time she met him all those years ago, the last time she lived in the North— those years were a blurry mess of pain, death, and confusion. Jon was the only thing that seemed to be in focus for her back then, amidst all of the chaos and terror she caused, he was the one constant. Her only tether to reality. 

_ Until it fell to nothing, _a traitorous voice whispers in her head.

It almost poisons her and this moment— Jon warm smile morphs into a toothy grin when she tightens her arms around him just to make sure he’s truly there, he _ is. _ So the poisonous thoughts fall away. _ He is here, _ Daenerys marvels at the line of his jaw, _ and he is here with me. _

Possessiveness, the feeling coming just as quick and vivid as her fear, has her sharp nails digging into the fabric at his shoulder blades and he slightly winces under the force. 

“You forget your strength,” Jon huffs a strangled breath, a mix between laughter and pain. Daenerys understands quickly and lets him go at once, fast to step back in small mortification. Her brute force had hurt him before, it always seemed to find a way even when she tried to be as she once was, mortal and just like him. Human, normal, less of a _ monster _. 

Jon steps back into her space before the shame can grow any quicker. Daenerys sighs, eyes fluttering shut at the feel of a warm, _ warm _hand upon her frozen cheek. It heats her up from the inside, in a way she hasn’t been in years. He had always been the fire to her ice. “Don’t run, Dany. We’ve been kept apart for too long, don’t you think?” 

_ Too long_— _ ions and ions of waiting, _she morosely thinks to herself. The pained expression written on her face in the form of her solemn violets and quirked eyebrows seem to give her thoughts her away, because he says, with a sweet hushed whisper, that he knows. His eyes go slightly distant, far away into dark pasts, and his brooding demeanor is not to be unnoticed. 

Something occurs to her just then, making her raise a suspicious brow and brush his palm off her cheek. She steps away just an inch, so his hand hangs awkwardly into the air. “Why are you only approaching me now?” she asks wearily, voice whisper thin. Jon lets his hand drop, but doesn’t answer, instead frowning in confusion. His silence prompts her to press on. “Why didn’t you tell me you knew? We went to school together.” _ Maybe he was afraid, _ an evil voice whispers in her mind. _ You know what you are— what you’ve always done. _

Fear clenches deep in her belly. If that was the case, she could understand, but it would hurt to know that she frightened him. No matter how much she loved Jon, she doesn’t want him if he feared her. 

All those years ago, when the town discovered the truth of the horrying murder of the small family, Jon came bursting into her little log cabin, trembling with as much rage as fright. During that time, in the small beginnings of what was to become _ Winterfell_, a string of murders plagued the small town. She had been conspicuous enough, a fair young lady who no one suspected. 

That is, until Jon saw happened upon her feasting on deer entrails— a desperate meal. When he found her like that, Jon was horrified and when that horror quickly changed to disgust, he was just as fast to run off. She should’ve stopped him— she very well _ could’ve_, but she didn’t. Harm, in any way shape or form, was something that she couldn’t imagine putting him through. 

She had been covered in blood— _ so much blood_— that fateful night. A messy kill, she remembers. That poor little family tried to fight her with every inch of strength they could muster, but her own strength was ten times theirs and it had been easy to render their flesh, to feed.

So Jon barged his way into her home as she was sat before the fire. Her lilac dress, one that Jon had gifted her during those first few happy months of courting each other, was damp with crimson more than the original pretty color it had been. 

_ “My love,” she whispered to him, although her gaze had been carefully watching the flames before her. _

_ “Love?” He had echoed incredulously, and even though she hadn’t been looking at him, she had _ felt _ the way his face had crumpled into plain disgust. “How could I love a-a murderer? It’s inhumane, what you’ve done!” The tone of his voice, the way he spat at her— it shouldn’t have surprised her. But it tilted her sideways into the ground, and harsh, brutal reality was awaiting her at the hard surface. “I know it was you— that it’s _ been _ you!” _

_ A strained beat of silence stretched through the wooden walls before he sighed deeply. “Dany,” he said, the sound miserable and heart wrenching— a resounding tone of defeat. Never had she heard the sweet endearment— that was his creation— sound so dismal. “Please, tell me I am wrong. That I am only confused, that what I saw was...just my imagination.” She had remained decisively quiet as he waited for something, _ anything. _ But she did not want to lie to him, not anymore. “The whole town will know soon. Melisandre has been spreadin’ tales about you around town to some of the people,” he had desperately added, trying to coax her with things she already knew about. Still, she would not lie to make him feel better. “They will fear you, Dany!” She heard the words but she knew that he was excluding the fact that he would too. _

_ Daenerys, her icy heart cracked in two, said something that sealed her fate. “Well,” she drawled slowly— for she could still taste the freshness of the blood along her teeth and her tongue had chased it— and lazily blinked up at the unwilling object of her affections, “let it be fear.” Any hope he had disintegrated immediately. His face had gone so bone white, that Daenerys thought he could’ve been mistaken for one of her kind. _ _She knew he was afraid then. _

But that was a different woman, she knows. Someone cold, someone lost. That wasn’t her now and she only hoped he knew it, too. 

Earnestly holding his gaze, Daenerys doesn’t move, waiting for his answer with her would-be bated breath. Jon shakes his head, pink mouth parting to say, “I didn’t know then.” She’s still skeptical, the answer not nearly enough and her frown says as much, so he grasps her hand to squeeze it with urgency. “Trust me,” Jon insists, his steel eyes fever bright, “I would’ve whisked you away if I had.” Then he sighs heavily, dropping his head for a beat before lifting it to bite his lip in quiet consideration.

The action is absent-minded and not intentional in any way, but nevertheless her mind churns with wicked thoughts. “Truth be told, today I woke up with a splitting headache and nothin’ but memories— memories of _ you, _ of _ us_… It was the strangest thing,” he pauses, tittering under his breath about something before exasperatedly saying, “it’s like I have memories of the past, but I’m aware of the present— of this version of myself and the life I’ve been leading this time around.” 

“The curse must be broken,” she mumbles, thinking out loud. _ It has to be_. She cannot handle any other option, any other possibility. But she wonders how. What is so different this time around to break a curse that she deserved? No one else knew about it— no one else except Viserys and, of course, Rhaegar. 

A sharp gasp pulled from her still lungs echoes through the quiet of the dark attic and Daenerys’ mind is running and running and running. 

_ Rhaegar… _

Witches are creatures she is not fond of in the slightest, for obvious reasons. Daenerys had always been wary of them and never found herself in their way, Viserys was indifferent and thought of them as _ deceitful sorceresses_, but Rhaegar personally knew a few and was always in their company...closely working with them....in _ secret_.

_ “You’ll thank me one day, Daenerys,” Rhaegar had told her with a private smile before they set off to the North. _

Daenerys knows then, that this was his doing. There’s no one else who would do such a thing for her, and it brings a tremulous bout of affection for the man who has not only been a dependable older brother, but also the father she’s never had. 

_ Could the universe be so merciful? _ She dares to wonder as she stares at her beloved’s worried face. _ Could it be? _

“Dany?” 

A sliver of luminous moonlight stretches over the grey of his left eye, his cheekbone and the hardset of his jawline under the scruff of his beard. She follows the the pale light down the column of his smooth throat and suddenly she doesn’t want to question it anymore. She feels safe with the likely knowledge of Rhaegar reversing the red witch’s old magic, _ however _ he managed it. And she’s starting to feel secure in the possibility that Jon isn’t afraid of her, that he _ wants _just as much as she does. 

There has only been one other thing that has brought her to hunger other than blood. One thing she’d been desperately craving for years upon years. _ Him. _

No one has a _ scent _ like him, Daenerys thinks as she pays little mind to his worry and slinks back into his space, nose right in the crook of his warm neck to fill her head with his smell. No one _ feels _ the way he does, a low purr rumbling deep within her when she coaxes the corded muscles of his arms back around her waist, strong and sure. No one _ tastes _ as good, plain and simple in the proof of the sweet tang that greets her taste buds as she sweeps her tongue along the length of his neck. No one _ sounds _ as beautifully— how can they?— when he whispers her name like it is the most fruitful prayer. And no one, not one single being on this damned Earth, _ looks _ as gorgeous as this man— _ her man, her soul_— does when he lazily blinks those round eyes open to regard her. 

His gaze is fire-bright, less like steel and more like stormy grey waves of _ want_. She wants, too. 

To be unleashed to feel and be felt. Freely, without caution and control. Looking into his eyes, all she wants is to _ be_. Simply be as she is, and she is a creature of selfish desire. 

As if he could read her very most inner thoughts, Jon clenches his jaw before leaning down to rest his forehead against hers. “Don’t hold back,” he tells her with his eyes closed, “I’m _ yours _ and you are _ mine_. Take me, Dany.” 

His unwavering trust, his startling devotion, his unabashed claim over her makes Daenerys _ shiver _ underneath the pale moonlight. Instinctively, the sharp edges of her incisors lengthen just a fraction more. Jon doesn’t flinch when her eyes— the whites of them blown back to the unforgiving black and the amethyst of irises swallowed by the bright red— flicker back open to meet his. Instead, he brings his palms up to frame her face, the pads of his rough thumbs tenderly sweeping just below her lower lash line. Disgust is nowhere to be found, only quiet awe. He beholds her like she is some priceless treasure, and not the soulless vessel she is. 

That’s how she knows— without a doubt, that Jon wants her, that he may even _ love _her. And she never thought she could adore him more, but in this moment she does. So, so much more.

Again he utters quietly, into the thick air, his breath fanning over her mouth, “I’m _ yours_,” before closing the agonizing space between them to sear his lips onto hers.

That same beast from before, the one that lives deep down in her belly, unfurls under the pressure of his mouth and she lets out a low growl before throwing all caution to the wind and prying his mouth open. A groan rumbles against her chest, and then she tastes it— _ sweet, sweet copper. _Startled, her eyes snap open and she sees that she’s cut his lip with her teeth. Jon watches her and she watches him and the blood on his lip as the intoxicating flavor seeps into her tongue. She sweeps it over her teeth, quietly desperate to chase the taste. He mutters a curse under his breath, eyes rapt in their task of following the motion of her tongue, before grabbing at the sides of her face to bridge the gaps between their mouths once again. 

Mewling, her mouth gladly opens for his and a rush of damp arousal leaks from her heat under the wet slide of his tongue over hers. Jon is relentless, just as starved as she is, and for a moment Daenerys entertains the thought of how insatiable he’d be if he were one of her kind. 

Their kiss is a feverish tangle, their hands in a desperate dance over the other’s body— her fingers twined in the silk of raven rivulets one moment, and skating down the expanse of his firm back while his hands are tugging at the ends of her moonbeam hair and then impatiently pulling at the hem of her leather skirt.

The sharp tugging has her turning them both on their feet, pushing him back without a struggle until the back of his knees knock against the dusty spare bed sat in the corner of the room. He frowns when she pulls from his mouth, giving him a second to breathe— something he’s seemed to have forgotten that he needs, much to her amusement. A second is all he gets though, because she’s back on him in a flash, wasting no time in stripping him of shirt. Just like she remembered, he is carved and lean. Inches and inches of moonlit skin on display for her greedy gaze. _ Too long, _ she thinks again, _ much too long. _By the time he’s flat on his back with her hips slung over his, he’s breathless again. 

Bass from the on-going party down below still thumps throughout the room, vibrating lowly. That and Jon’s heavy breathing are the only sounds discernible— except, there _ is _the low pumping of his pulse and the rhythmic song of his quickened heartbeat but she largely ignores that, for now. 

Jon pushes his head back into the pillow as she skirts her teeth down the side of his neck, lingering there with a few light nips and languorous licks before moving further down, her shimmering hair splayed out over him as she goes. She passes over the dips of firm collarbones with light kisses and caresses that make him exhale deeply, his body relaxing under her touch. She cracks an eye open to see his are closed— _ lulled into a false sense of peacefulness_. 

Feeling wicked, Daenerys smirks to herself, holding herself over his chest for a moment before diving down and harshly nipping at the rosy flat bud of his nipple. His eyes shoot back open in shock, a startled half-shout ringing out into the air. A devilish grin spreads across her face when he props himself on his elbows to stare down at her, open-mouthed. 

Before he can get a word out, she leans up to press a hand on his shoulder, pinning him to the mattress with minimal effort. “_Down, _ Jon Snow,” she commands with full authority. He blinks openly, almost owl-like, and snaps his mouth shut. Uncertainty finds its way back, wrapping its unforgiving arms around her and filling her with doubt. That is, until a slow sinful grin stretches over his beautiful face. Dutifully, Jon settles back into the pillow without a word, but his glittering eyes say it all— they say _ take me_. 

And so, she will.

Undeterred, she goes back to her teasing. Her teeth drag and scratch and her lips suck and pull. Jon grunts under his breath every now and again, his chest heaves and tightens, but it’s not good enough. It’s just not _ enough_. Pulling away, Daenerys admires the sight of his nipples red and taut, and is unable to stop herself from pinching with her fingertips. At that, Jon groans deeply and the sound is guttural and rough as his hips drive up into hers. 

She drives her own back over his, the motion bringing an onslaught of prickling pleasure at the feel of his denim-covered length thickening under her satin covered folds. His hands come up to grip tightly at her waist, her skirt now rucked up over the curve of her hips as they rock against each other. It shouldn’t feel this good, the simple action of dragging her cunt along the length of his shaft, but it _ does_. Loud and wanton, she’s mewling like a bitch in heat. The throbbing in her clit is a steady thrum as their eyes lock and hold. It’s entirely too tempting to take him right now, to rip his jeans off and slide her flimsy excuse for her undergarments to the side so she can have her fill. Too _ easy_, is what it’d be.

She wants to feel him in more ways than one. She wants him begging and pleading, nearly at the very end before he’s pulled back in. It will be best that way. 

She slides back, off his hips and straddles his lower legs. Jon groans in displeasure at the loss of her weight, which is a sentiment she can relate to, but he is quickly silenced when she grabs at his crotch with a deft grip. Her fingers trail and trace over him, bottom lip between her teeth as her walls clench— they pulse with great need of something to grip on. _ Soon_.

Rapt eyes watch her every move as she slides the metal zipper down, her black nail catching on every notch until she ends up revealing the cotton of black briefs. What’s more is that the weeping red head of his cock is trapped under the thick band, peeking out and enticing her. She salivates at the sight, taking him in for a beat before ripping the fabric off of his hips like it was nothing. It leaves him in momentary shock— his pretty cheeks withholding the faintest bloom of scarlet but then, after he’s gotten over it, he’s practically setting her alight with his smoky stare. 

His desire motivates her, spurs her body into action and her hot mouth is hovering over where he needs her most. It is impossible for her to not take in his face, his eyes heavily lidded, breath suspended in silent anticipation, and oh so _ beautiful_. She doesn’t have any breath in her body but for this purpose, she blows a puff of cool air over the damp head. Jon hisses sharply, head thrown back in an instant. 

Humming, Daenerys decides to not wait any longer. The taste of him is something she’s been without for much too long. Careful not to take her eyes off of him, she leans down, tongue spreading flat to lick him up from base to tip. Meanwhile, her hand drags up the length of a pale thigh to deftly massage his balls.

His hips buck up, an action as involuntary as the strong hand that’s come up to tangle in her hair. “Fuck,” he groans, his northern timbre stretching the word roughly. “Keep go—” She doesn’t give him the chance to command her because she already knows what he wants, _ needs_, and she needs it just as much. Her tongue sweeps again, the same path, but when she gets to the leaking head her lips close around it and she sucks around it, once, _ twice _ , before swallowing him down all the way. _ “Oh, fuck_…”

Coming up for air isn’t necessary and therefore, she is relentless and absolutely selfish. Her head is spinning with the salty taste of him, and she loses herself in his natural musk that lies just underneath the pine and smoke. 

Jon had never been a brash, outgoing man like so many others. He was calm and collected in every life she’s known him, but his preferred quiet nature was not to be mistaken as weakness. He could be firm and straight-forward, unwavering in his beliefs and morals— defiant honor that has caused her a lot of grief over the years. But she wouldn’t change it for a thing. Silent strength was the best kind, in her opinion, and Jon was the best kind of man. 

But if he was a laid-back man, one would never know it with the way he growled and writhed under the attention of her mouth. His skin blazes underneath her cool fingertips, and his muscles grow more taut with every bob of her head and filthy pass of her wet tongue. When she darts lower to lick around the heavy weight of his balls, his hips buck once again making it necessary for her cool hands to press them down into the mattress. 

He snarls under the restriction, her caged wolf, and she smiles devilishly at the sight of his knuckles going white as the bone as his hands grip onto the metal headboard for dear life. “Dany, _ fuck_, oh so good.” His words are a slurred string that tumbles out of him when she drags another wet path around his balls. Lifting her head up to gaze down on him, she takes him in hand, twisting and stroking at the head that weeps pearl drips with a slow, torturous pace. She’s marveling at the pretty flush across his chest that matches his cheeks that are fanned by dark long lashes. So pretty, and all _ hers_. 

He begs and keens under her ministrations, needing more than just her hand, but she doesn’t let up until she sees the pretty flush spreading _ down _ and _ down _ and _ down_— his marbled abdomen a red flowing river. Her wrist flicks just a little faster than it had been and his eyes flutter open. _ “Please_, Dany,” he pleads, looking every inch of carnal sin. “So long without you—” he says with heightened breath, the words calling to her most vulnerable sense, “—_need _ you. _ Please_.”

Hot tears fill her eyes, and she’s too slow to blink them back so she dives back down with a tight grip at the base to devour him once more, taking comfort in his sounds of pleasure. Later, they’d have all the time in the world to cry over their pain. There’s no room for it, now. 

Her pace becomes more frenzied, frivolous movements of _ up and down, up and down, up and down _ that make his eyes cross and grip tighten over the cool metal. His shaft pushes deeper into her mouth as her luscious lips and stiff tongue drag against it, and automatically, _ greedily_, her throat opens to welcome his girth as the head pushes into the back of it. 

Veins bulge and press underneath the skin of his flushed throat, pulse pumping wildly, and she knows he’s close. Abandoning the headboard, his hands grab at the back of her head as he’s eager to press her closer to him. So close that their skin could melt and mold together. But she has to push his needy hands off and pull her wet mouth away with an obscene slick _ pop_, her grip still iron tight at the thick base to hold him off. 

Jon curses loudly, his voice thick with need to be quelled as his hips blindly chase after her plush mouth. “You’re gonna _ kill _me,” he nearly shouts, chest heaving. “Have mercy,” the plea sounding akin to pious men who stand vigil at their chosen deities stone likeness. 

She is no god, nor is she anything holy— very much the opposite, as she is Hell’s creature— but Jon’s reverent words make her feel divine. The feeling is almost just as great as his love. _ Almost_. 

The need to feel him is all too great now, urgent and desperate. Deciding to have mercy on her lover and to indulge herself, Daenerys whips the clothes off her back, pulls the fabric off her aching hips. Cool air caresses her body, but it doesn’t compare to the trail his eyes make over her bare skin. He’s greedy and awestruck all at once, eyes softening as they rove over soft curves and smooth dips to drink her in as she straddles him once again. 

Then his nails come up to dig into her hips, pressing indents into the soft surface. The sharp sting has her sucking in a breath, bracing her hands on his shoulders and sliding her wet cunt over the bare, rigid weight of his cock. 

Both of them hungrily watch the slide of her swollen and dripping folds over his length, Jon muttering a low rumble of curses at the sight of her leaving him glistening. Gasping, she presses her hands to his hard chest to gain more leverage and friction. Stars burst underneath her eyelids when the tip rubs against her tiny, swollen nub and then she has _ no choice _ but to reach down, grabbing him by the base and sinking herself down to the hilt. And when he bottoms out, right against her womb, she thinks it feels a lot like coming home. 

Chorused moans fill the air as she pulsates around him, her caught up in the thick girth and the feeling of being so full, while he shivers against the feeling of her tight wet grip. Underneath the moonlight, he looks more than feral, his teeth digging into his bottom lip as he looks up at her with fire in his eyes. She knows she looks very much the same for the flames burn through her and rush to melt her frozen veins. 

Crazed desperation has her wrapping a tight grip around his neck, squeezing the sides with control as to not hurt him. And there’s no pain to be found, Jon comes alive under her hold, eyes rolling back with a stuttering groan as his lips part. “Don’t finish until I say so,” she orders quietly. “Wait for me— let me have you as I wish.” She waits for his consent and it comes in the form of a quick nod. His curls fall over his eyelids and she brushes them to the side, fingertips sweeping over his cheekbone. 

Delighted with his consent, she rewards him by starting a slow pace of rolling her hips. A smile forms across her face at the sound of his choked moan, pleased with herself for still having this effect over him. Her free hand presses to his shoulder as she circles her hips over and over again. Unable to stop himself, Jon follows her rhythm, his hips chasing after hers in a way that’s so delightful it has her cunt clenching and tightening. 

His pulse thumps and ticks erratically under the skin of her palm, and it has her mouth watering. Hands reach up to her hips and hold so he can rut against her more forcefully. “No,” she hisses sharply but it falls on deaf ears, he’s too caught in the waves of pleasure to heed her wishes. Choosing to retaliate, Daenerys is quick to lean down and bite down on the sensitive flesh of his nipple. He jumps under her, hands falling away in shock. Rising up, she raises a brow down at his dark expression, his body frozen beneath her. “Keep your hands still,” she warns with a thin voice that cautions against any insolence. 

Pretty eyes widen in shock, the pleasure fading as he sobers up for a moment, but then a quiet moment passes and his shock burns away into dark hunger. Obeying, his fingers flex into the mattress and hers flex around his throat in satisfaction. 

Thrill vibrates through her chest along with the feeling of power. It has her riding him without abandon, hips undulating in a quick, dangerous fashion that has him powerless and bent to her will. She leans into it, ferocious with her desire and need. He feels so good, so _right_, that it makes her toss her head back, shuddering and crying out. 

“_Seven hells_,” he breathes out harshly, the sound a bit of a wheeze under the grip of her hand around his neck. The breathiness garners her attention quickly. His eyes are locked where they are joined, watching with awe as she takes him, sucks and pulls him in. Never had she felt more wanted and desired than in this moment, but she still needs to hear the words. Still needs to be sure. 

She pulls her hand from his throat, hungry gaze roving over the faint red marks on his smooth skin that send another rush of heat through her belly. Leaning forward, she drops down to rest her forehead on his— chest to chest. Moonlight breaks through the curtain of her illuminated hair around their faces as she pours her eyes into his, her voice gasping out, “Do you love me, Jon Snow?” 

“Gods, _ yes_,” his answer a quick rush of breath, “more than anything. Always, forever.” 

“In this life and the next?” she asks, voice still uncertain, soul still needy. 

Jon grasps both sides of her face, her rule laid to the wayside just so can he hold her. “In _ every _life. I will love you in every life, Dany.” 

Her still heart does the impossible— it stutters,_ flutters_, and flies away into the night sky at his rapt words of devotion. 

_ But what if he doesn’t? _ The curse is broken, she knows it with every fiber in her very being, but still— _ what if he doesn’t? _

Perceptive as ever, even in the throes of passion, Jon speaks and requests something of her she’d never thought he would. Pushing her face back just enough so they can see each other clearly, Jon simply says, “Change me.” 

For a moment everything falls quiet and Daenerys’ world turns on its axis. If he doesn’t mean it, it is a cruel joke but...he_ does_. He means it— she can see that in his earnest stare, she can feel it in the sure grip of his hands framing her face. 

_ He means it, _she realizes awestruck. 

Unbelieving of her luck, Daenerys huffs out a short laugh. Jon’s hand sweeps through her hair and she bites at her lip, eyes falling as she sheepishly mutters, “It would mean forever,” but he doesn’t back down. Weakly, she adds, “There will be pain,” and _ still _he doesn’t waver. 

Her eyes fall to the pulsing of his throat, and she can hear it— his life’s blood as it circulated through his warm veins. An unexplainable thirst builds, she can feel it taking over— the_ beast _. Running her tongue along her sharp incisors, she glances back at him once more. “Are you sure?”

“I’ve never been more sure about anything,” he says confidently, and then a small smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. “Other than the fact that I love you.” 

_ How could this man be real? How could any of it be? _

She pulls back to sit up and straddle his hips, the change in angle making them both groan. Blinking back the pleasure, Daenerys stares down at him, both of them drinking each other in for a few seconds before she nods gingerly. “Alright,” she concedes quietly and a warm grin breaks out on his face that she mirrors automatically. Then her expression changes as she raises a devious brow, Jon’s eyes heatedly flickering in response. “But _ first_…” Her hips swivel sinfully and he’s throwing his head back with a snarl, narrowly missing the headboard. 

When his hands come up to grab onto her hips this time, she lets him. The rough grip, the bite of his nails faithfully digging into her skin sends chills down her spine as she rocks and grinds over him. As the seconds bleed into each other, Daenerys finds her self-control waning. Tremulously, she shakes with every slide of her cunt against his hard cock and it has her losing rhythm. She can’t help it, though— the love of her life is under her, and has just sworn himself to her for all eternity. _ For all time_.

Desperately, her hands grip at his shoulders as she tries to fall back into a smoother pace but she fails, entirely too affected. Jon is quick to pounce, reaching up to pull her chest to his and then flipping her onto her back— still buried inside of her— with a speed that surprises even her. 

He leans over her now on both forearms, not wasting another moment before driving his hips back and thrusting back in with a force so great, it makes her see white and has flames lapping at her icy skin. The heady scent of her arousal fills the still room, and with every slick pump there is the wet squelching of him stroking inside her. He moves within her with such acuity that only a man who knew his lover over several lifetimes could obtain. 

Greedy hands entangle themselves into her tresses, digging fingernails into her scalp. The sharp sting has her hips rising to meet his with every motion. Danger dances in his blown pupils as they stare into each other. Eyes that were once grey are now a black, depthless pit that she finds herself getting lost in.

His teeth dig into his bottom lip, nearly hard enough to break the soft surface. Her cunt is clenching around him erratically, the crest of her impending end is near. She digs her fingers into the skin of his back, clutching desperately and moaning at the feel of his muscles tensing and bunching under her touch. 

A cry of surprise leaves her lips when Jon wraps a tight fist around her hair and _ pulls_, forcing her head back and baring her milky throat to him. Daenerys thought herself a beast, but the bite Jon pierces down into her skin is downright animalistic. A small trickle of blood slides down but Jon— all the while holding her gaze with a blazing obsidian stare— laps it up with a hot pink tongue. It forces her high, high, and _ higher_, the moon within her reach as blinding waves of pleasure crash over her body, rolling her under the surface. 

All of her senses are lost to her in that moment. Rapturous bliss is all there is, and it’s so much that it nearly numbs her. _ Nearly _ because Jon shudders above her, mumbling _ Dany, Dany, Dany_, before a rumbling snarl leaves him as he fills her cold body with his hot seed. 

Her eyes are shut, closed against the magnitude of their shared pleasure, so she blindly reaches up for his nape and twists her fingers into the downy curls there. Fangs reveal themselves, glinting underneath the pale moon. There is no fear, no repulsion, no hesitance, and the world goes peacefully quiet when she sinks into his willing throat. 

All there is to be found between their entwined souls is acceptance, love, relief, and well… _ blood_.

**Author's Note:**

> come follow and perhaps talk to me:  
ladyofsilver.tumblr.com  
and my twitter @ is targaryin !!! ❤️🖤
> 
> (comments are appreciated!!!) ❤️


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